


One door closes

by valiantfindekano



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantfindekano/pseuds/valiantfindekano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a visit to Khazad-dum, Celebrimbor meets a new dwarf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One door closes

Fortunately, this was not Celebrimbor’s first visit into Hadhodrond, but he was hardly presenting the dignified image of a great Noldorin craftsman as he sat with a moist rag pressed against his bleeding forehead. The sweeping descent of stairs that led from the grand entranceway to the main road through the mining city had left his heart pounding in his throat and sweat prickling at his temples, too, and between the sense of vertigo and the smarting wound at his hairline, standing was an impossibility at the moment.

The original doors on the western side of the city had been part of a grand entranceway. It was through those that Celebrimbor had entered on his last two visits, and he distinctly recalled how he had marveled at their choice to build such tall doors when they were so short of stature. Last year—or perhaps it was a few years ago already—a rock had plummeted from the heights above them and weakened the old doors, something that the dwarves had taken as a great slight to their pride. It had been agreed that the whole thing would be reconstructed, but in the meantime, a tiny passageway had been chiseled through another part of the stone face to let travellers through.

The Noldorin craftsman had foolishly let his mind wander as he followed his guides inside, and his head had come forcefully into contact with a low overhang of rock. It was a sharp edge on his own circlet that had drawn blood at the impact, however. Now, no less than twenty dwarves were in attendance (Celebrimbor did not trust himself to count while his vision was blurred and obscured by dancing black spots); no less than nineteen of them had outright laughed at his entrance.

“You couldn’t expect us to proportion the gate for giants to enter,” Váli protested. And in his defence, most elves now did not stand loftily above seven feet, most of them hovering around six. For most, there would have been a comfortable clearance between their heads and the ceiling.  

“It wasn’t the gate,” Celebrimbor mumbled. “The passageway. Bottom of the stairs.”

Váli shrugged. He was probably suppressing another laugh.

So there it was; a head-wound and twenty sniggering dwarves would most likely postpone the planned visit to the Waterways deep in the mountain. One of the guards had proposed dropping him in a mine-cart and sending him through the small tunnels above the main path, but the suggestion of such confined spaces had sent a fresh wave of panic coursing through Celebrimbor’s body. No, as soon as he could walk, he would step back out into the Sirannon vale and attempt to revive himself with some of its icy cold water, and perhaps then—

“What’s that?”

Celebrimbor might have groaned at the sound of a new voice singling him out. The other dwarves seemed to know the newcomer, though, and a number of them called out in greeting. “Narvi, lad!”

It was Váli that explained what the bleeding elf was doing in their Hall, being the younger, kinder, and more enthusiastic of the guides. “This is Lord Celebrimbor of the…” His introduction, though, trailed off.

“Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” Celebrimbor filled in, recalling the dwarf’s difficulty in pronouncing his organisation’s name, and ignoring the incorrect title. “At your service and your family’s.”  _Lord Celebrimbor_  was a misnomer that he heard often enough, and as Celeborn showed no inclination towards visiting his neighbours in Hadhodrond, it would hardly matter if some confusion persisted among the dwarves. In a clearer state of mind, he would even have taken some delight in encouraging the misuse of the title, particularly among a people so misliked by Celeborn, but it bore the risk of earning him a reputation as a power-hungry man.

Some had known Curufin by such reputations. Celebrimbor hissed, not least because the cut on his temple was stinging.

“It spouts like a kettle,” the dwarf called Narvi observed, and he leaned in closer to examine the elf. His eyes narrowed, and after a second, he added, “and shines like one, too. May we put it over the fire?”

Another day, Celebrimbor would have been glad to bandy back a witty remark of his own. There was some saying about brevity, however, and his response was direct. “Why are you here?”

Narvi looked affronted, but his tone remained dryly humorous. “In my own city, he asks me! You first, elf.”

“I came to see the Water-works,” Celebrimbor mumbled, and for the moment removed the compress from his head. He took the moment to observe Narvi, though by his own admission, his perceptions were less sharp towards Aulë’s children as they were with his own people. He could see rough hands, but that could mean he was either a miner or a stonemason or perhaps a renowned warrior. The first two were far from uncommon in Hadhodrond, so what did it tell him?

It was worth noting that the dwarf had a particularly intelligent gleam in his eye.

“What does a jeweller care for works of engineering?”

Ah, so he  _knew._  Even for living deep in the mansions of the dwarves, this one stayed alert to the developments of their neighbours. That was interesting in its own right, and not for the first time, Celebrimbor regretted that he was in a tender state. He should have preferred to analyse this newcomer to the degree he liked. “Art takes many forms, Master Narvi. My uncles were architects; I can appreciate a structure well made.”

Narvi gave a snort of laughter. “What do you think of the gates?”

“Poor,” Celebrimbor replied quickly.

“They’ll need to be replaced,” the dwarf sighed, and he seemed to cast a pointed look at some of the others who lingered in the hall as he said it before he returned to look towards Celebrimbor. “I suggest you rest your head before descending to the Water-works. My designs won’t be enhanced by a drowned elf caught in the channels.”

Celebrimbor was half-way through his nod before he caught himself. “— _Yours?_ ”

Narvi smiled.  

**Author's Note:**

> Hadhodrond = Sindarin word for Khazad-dum
> 
> Locations are somewhat based on Lord of the Rings Online's Moria because it's gorgeous!


End file.
